a game of tennis
by Lady Genna
Summary: Fuji and Ryoma. It's all about tennis, really.


Notes: Hmmn, this piece has a significantly more shounen ai feeling, but it can still be read as Gen at the same time (if you don't take the molestation and dating into account. Ehehehe.) I'll be following the manga mainly, because Anipuri hasn't been very loving towards FujiRyo lately (but it's friendly to about ten million other pairings during the current zenbatsu arc. Those animators are biased bastards, I tell you!) Spoiler alerts are as follow: Mainly for the Fuji and Ryoma match in the rain (yes, the famous one) until post-Fuji/Kirihara match in the Kantou Finals.

* * *

a game of tennis  
by _Lady Genna_

----- 

_It's still too early for you to defeat me._

He hated hearing that.

He was a National Junior champion in America! Regardless of the number of years- a little over ONE year, to be precise -Fuji had over him in terms of tennis playing experience, and regardless of the fact that the other was a known prodigy since young, there was no reason why someone like _him_ could say anything of that sort and get away with it.

Over the years, if there was one thing which Ryoma managed to learn well from his father, it would be none other than the tendency to feel disdain for a certain kind of person.

The kind who didn't know how to play tennis properly.

Many called him a child prodigy, but he was the only one who knew exactly what he was. Perhaps, when they looked at him now, they all thought that he came gifted with the tennis skills he had now. The razor sharp wit and lightning quick thinking was his alone, yes. But the tennis skills... it could be said that his father cultivated them out of him.

He didn't use to be a junior league champion.

Neither did he use to know how to use the Spilt Step, or the Twist Serve, or any of those fancy moves he used to slice his opponents' egos.

It had taken no small amount of hard work on his end to ensure that there was any product at all. He might be lazy too, but he also knew that all these hard-earned talents would waste away if he stopped playing tennis. His father's tennis was hereditary; yes, it applied to him too, but he couldn't help thinking that the route he had travelled was a lot harder than his father's.

Fuji Syuusuke, now...

Other than being a known prodigy since young, Fuji was equipped with moves which didn't appear to be humanely possible.

Playing against the other boy was simply a mockery of his own tennis.

Not only did Fuji refuse to play seriously against him on the courts-- he had also toyed around with the very idea of playing tennis, rendering it into nothing more than a whimsical hobby. Ryoma knew all these, just because he had been watching the other since day one, observing everything, taking in information which he knew would become useful some day in the future.

He was right when he identified Fuji as one of the stronger players on their team. He simply didn't know _how_ strong Fuji was back then, and the lackadaisical attitude the other often sported made Ryoma forget about his existence, just for the briefest of moments, overshadowed by the louder and flashier personalities on their school team.

But that incredibly sharp mind Fuji had hidden well beneath his vague exterior... and the skills which backed him up on his promises... all these spoke of a player who didn't care about the score he achieved, only the psychological product his opponents suffered. Mizuki was a prime example of what happened when Fuji decided to toy with his opponents, and as thrilling as it had been to watch the arrogant idiot being cut down by Fuji, Ryoma couldn't help feeling a little disappointed.

The prodigy he saw on that court wasn't complete.

Fuji was simply too whimsical about tennis. He needed the right kind of challenges to become fired about the very game he played, and mere interest didn't seem to be enough for him. The knowledge left Ryoma strangely frustrated, and he had almost asked Fuji for a game, just to see how far he could push the older boy. Although he couldn't tolerate the sight of whimsically played tennis, he guess he could deal, as long as Fuji behaved, picked other targets, played tennis seriously when pitted against him, and stayed out of his way for the rest of the time.

He was hoping for too much, he guessed.

Things would have progressed fine, with some small discomfort and unhappiness on his end, of course, since he had no solution when it came to dealing with Fuji. But unfortunately for him, things didn't seem to like progressing fine. Ryoma understood, because such was the way of life for him apparently, and he realised since some time ago that resisting fate was like digging his own grave.

Tezuka had shoved them into each other's paths.

Things hadn't been the same since, but it was difficult to look back and protest, since things between them had never been normal to begin with.

On the good days, Ryoma almost wanted to thank his captain for being a smartass who thought that provoking his team-mates would only encourage them to move up towards a higher level. On the bad days, he swore he would definitely skin Tezuka upon sight, not just for loading him with someone like Fuji, but also for running off when everyone needed him.

Things had changed, but he still hated it when Fuji told him how much further he had to run to catch up.

He wasn't interested in beating Fuji, not at the moment, anyway. In order to beat Fuji, he had to make sure that the latter was playing at his best. It was often difficult to tell, since the older boy had a tendency to do things the way he liked them while not giving a damn about the rest of the world. That was why Ryoma decided that he had a mission to accomplish, one which surfaced ever since they failed to complete their match in the rain.

First, he must make Fuji become serious about tennis.

The rest would follow, soon enough.

* * *

From the moment he met the boy called Echizen Ryoma, he knew that he had found it.

If he was to explain the schematics behind what 'it' had meant, that would take far too much time. To put it simply, he had found the person whom he wouldn't mind playing tennis against for the rest of his life, amongst a few other things.

Since young, Fuji didn't believe in tennis. Perhaps, that would be a wrong way to phrase it, since the lack of faith was not caused by the very sport itself, but by the amount of trouble he went through because of it. He had fame and glory from the numerous matches he played since young-- met plenty of people whom he wouldn't have known otherwise, but also lost his brother to the very game itself.

The notion of losing his younger brother to a mere game alone had made him hate the racket he held in his hands, the trophies that lined his shelves at home, and the record many of those talent scouts had kept on him. He didn't think he would be able to face another person like himself on the courts-- someone who was gifted, who wanted to love the game, and at the same time, was disillusioned by it.

He then met Tezuka Kunimitsu.

Many often thought that he had a simple history with Tezuka, but the both of them met a long time ago, way back then in their youth, when they were district champions for junior league tennis, and recognised each other upon sight on the courts. He had played many games since then, played against Tezuka on numerous occasions too, but he had never once felt the urge to smack Tezuka down to an appropriate level.

He liked Tezuka. And the way he played tennis. It was a little dull in the stoic and unchanging manner Tezuka was known to be, but he proved to be a challenging, giving rise to a small, familiar, prickling sensation on his skin. Fuji always liked challenges that excited him. For a long time after he entered junior high, he thought that Tezuka was the challenge he had been waiting for throughout his life.

Maybe he was a little disappointed, since he had expected something so much fiercer than Tezuka's rout determination, but he guessed he couldn't afford to be too picky, not with the league he was playing in.

And then, Echizen Ryoma crashed into his life, and things hadn't quite been the same since.

_Excited_... well, it wasn't good enough to describe the feelings Ryoma roused in him. Even _challenged_ had come out sounding slightly off, the whole tone to their tennis encounters lessened by that word. He had been looking for a word to describe the feelings Ryoma brought out in him, and he had yet to find it. He was interested in Ryoma, not just in his tennis, but also in his personality and character, and the arrogance he draped around himself like a convenient cloak he picked up off the courts.

He was beautiful.

In the way stars shone bright on the courts before burning themselves out, Ryoma was beautiful. He didn't just move on the courts, he flew on them, movements quick and precise, determination backed by the passion of a million suns, and possessing a wicked wit sharpened to the point where it was so thin, so light, it cut without his opponents realising.

Fuji _liked_ him.

_Why didn't you go all out for victory during your match against Echizen?_

He knew he couldn't possibly tell Tezuka his reasons for playing the way he did. If he didn't read Ryoma wrongly, the younger boy was someone who let challenges get under his skin in the unhealthiest manners possible, and treated every single opponent as a milestone for him to cross. If his opponent was strong enough, he would up his level when he played. If his opponent was insignificant enough, there was no need for him to break a sweat, even.

That whimsical nature of his... it almost came close to Fuji's personality, and he was kind of amused by that realisation.

Apparently, during their match, Ryoma was still quite a way behind. He had to catch up to Fuji, and the latter made sure that Ryoma actually realised that fact. He could see it in the younger boy's eyes. He was indignant, annoyed and impossibly irritated by the incomplete match-- not to mention the uncrossed hurdle Fuji had represented.

Like Fuji, Ryoma _liked_ challenges.

But Fuji had no motivation for victory. He had no interest in owning another trophy with his name on it, filling up yet another record in someone else's book. He played for himself, for the amusement he could glean off the game, and for the reactions he could rouse in his opponents. Such was his way of tennis.

Perhaps, Tezuka had made him realise that he needed to change. Ryoma had his purpose for winning. Tezuka had his reasons for victory. He had... he had nothing. So he took on another person's dream and sought to make it true. Ryoma wouldn't like it, Tezuka might actually feel relieved, but only Fuji would know why he played seriously during the match against Kirihara.

When the match first began, only one thought rang true in his mind.

_So... he's the one who injured Echizen's knee?_

If there was one thing he absolutely abhorred seeing, it would be the simple fact of people stealing his claims.

Kirihara had threatened what Ryoma could become, what Fuji could own, what his tennis had come to be played for. He threatened the very existence of his game, the boy he was slowly grooming into the best opponent he would eventually face on the courts. Every single move he had showed Ryoma so far was meant to incite him, excite him, and make him realise how much further he had to run.

They had yet to complete their match, Ryoma still had quite a distance to go before he was ready to face Fuji again, but the latter had all the patience in the world when it came to dealing with Ryoma.

Fuji knew that the fruit which was already ripe for plucking would fall into his hands eventually.

* * *

"When will you ever be serious about playing tennis?" Though the petulant edge to Ryoma's voice had faded together with the years he gained in age, all the added experience had done nothing to change him much. "We've been playing for over a YEAR since you left junior high..."

"How old are you now, Echizen?"

Ryoma gave Fuji a wary look. "I'll be turning fifteen on the coming Christmas."

There was a soft sigh from Fuji, accompanied by a gentle shake of his head. "Not yet, then."

It irked him. _Still_ managed to irk him, in fact, after so many years. There was some fundamental flaw in Fuji's character design, and if Ryoma ever had the chance to speak to whoever above who decided that inflicting the world with someone called Fuji Syuusuke seemed like a good idea on a fine day, he would skewer that entity inside out.

"All these wins are insignificant if you don't play seriously." Ryoma grumbled, tugging his baseball cap lower.

"They are?" Fuji smiled amicably, resting his tennis racket on his lap. "I didn't know you're keeping a score, saa."

Ryoma narrowed his eyes.

"Fuji-senpai."

Fuji glanced up with a vaguely curious look. "Hm?"

Ryoma tugged his baseball cap lower, eyeing the ground. "When are you going to use your Disappearing Serve again?"

"Ahh, why? What's the matter?" The older boy tilted his head to one side and smiled.

"I want to-"

"Break it?" Fuji suggested, his eyes still a pair of curved lines. "Maa, that really won't do, Echizen. You're not ready for it yet."

"That's what you always say." The other boy muttered, his mood turning dark.

After what felt like an eternal moment of silence, Fuji finally gave a soft sigh. "Ne, come here for a moment."

Ryoma did as told, taking the empty spot on the bench, sitting right beside the older boy. He was clenching his racket so tightly, his knuckles had already turned white.

Fuji leaned over, just enough for him to press his left forearm lightly against Ryoma's, his breaths ghosting down the latter's neck in an uncomfortable manner. The older boy then smiled, reaching over to rest his right hand on top of Ryoma's, the faint touch feeling strangely invasive.

"When the time is right, you will know, Ryoma."

And then Fuji was gone, walking towards his usual side of the court. He grinned cheerily at Ryoma, then waved with his racket hand.

"If we don't hurry up, the sun will set and it'll be too dark to play!"

Ryoma, who had turned deathly pale from the intimate touch Fuji left him with, stood up in a rush, staring hard at the latter.

"You're flirting with me." It wasn't even a question, just a simple statement of what he suspected to be the truth all along. Feeling like a cat who was being led around the place with the despicable temptation of catnip, Ryoma glowered at the older boy, lifting his racket to point it accusingly at Fuji. "You are... interested in me. In that way."

When Fuji started chuckling, Ryoma had to resist the urge to serve a tennis ball at the older boy. His cheeks, had also begun to colour in the most distressing manner.

"That was low, Fuji-senpai!"

Fuji smiled, tilting his head to one side. "What took you so long to figure that out, _boy wonder_?"

* * *

What had begun explosively would, naturally, end explosively.

He reckoned that it was all just a game of tennis at the end of the day, one which the both of them had been waiting for years to play. He wouldn't confess to toying with Ryoma's feelings, simply because he wasn't. But he was, however, intrigued by the reactions Ryoma could provide him with, and that had been the eventual deciding factor.

No, Fuji wasn't joking when he said he _liked_ Ryoma.

Time had the ability to pass amazingly quick when nobody was paying attention. He couldn't quite remember how all those years managed to slip by them unchecked, and only had a vague recognition of the fact that time actually passed at all. They continued playing tennis, Fuji was still as whimsical as ever, but he was prone to humouring Ryoma when the occasions suit his mood.

He knew that it would all be over the moment he gave everything in a match against Ryoma, and lost.

It was kind of sad, but when he was reduced to using tennis as a kind of hook to keep the boy he was interested in by his side, he knew that some things would have to give way, eventually.

They dated a little during Ryoma's first year in senior high, and kind of drifted away from the intimate relationship for some unknown reason, the focus of their meetings always centring around tennis and nothing else. He guessed he really wasn't in a place to complain, since he was the person who placed tennis in the equation, and locked it firmly between them.

It was only a matter of time.

Ryoma was only willing to tolerate his nonsensical attitude for this long and sustain the strange relationship they were currently sharing. He wasn't afraid of losing a boy he never owned in the first place, but he thought he could feel his heart itch, just a little, over the loss.

In the years that followed after he left junior high, Tezuka had spoken to him again, once more before the former captain left Japan for good, aiming for his no longer distant dreams.

_Do not underestimate Echizen's ability to reason out relationships for himself._

He had never done that, not even once. But he _had_ thought that Ryoma wouldn't be as sensitive towards it, simply because the boy had no attention span whatsoever for things outside of tennis and its related activities. Sometimes, it was almost difficult to drop a hint and hope that Ryoma would pick it up early enough for his schemes to be effective.

He guessed he would miss the younger boy, a little, when he was gone.

Ryoma had spoken of plans, plenty of them, and almost every single one of them had something to do with America, the country he left behind in his never-ending quest for a tennis dream. Fuji believed in what he said, but he also believed that tennis wasn't the way for him to go. He had no reasons to play tennis anymore, not unless they had something to do with Ryoma, and even now...

_Come with me to America._

He wanted to. He had hoped that he could, that maybe, he might just be able to muster enough interest in the game for it to become a substitution for what he had never managed to found outside of Ryoma.

_I... can't._

It had almost sounded like goodbye.

_"Since when have you admitted defeat, Fuji-senpai?"_

"I'm not admitting defeat. Just... tired, I guess."

"That's not a good excuse."

"Maa, it isn't?"

Indeed, it wasn't.

"What did your parents say about your decision, Ryoma?" He tried to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible, sitting on the edge of Ryoma's bed with his left leg raised, foot digging deeply into the mattress and chin resting against the raised knee. "Are they moving back with you?"

"I'm no longer a child." Ryoma's gruff reply had Fuji smiling. "I can take care of myself. Furthermore, they're too old to move around this much anymore."

"Ahh, indeed-"

Ryoma suddenly paused in his packing, turning to face him, the scowl a familiar one. "This is not the Fuji-senpai who pursued me so many years ago."

Fuji frowned slightly. "Perhaps. People change, Ryoma."

"Not you."

He laughed, tickled by the almost petulant answer. "Contrary to popular belief, I do change."

This time, he could only watch as Ryoma strode across the room in steady steps and caught hold of his shoulders in an abrupt grip, wrenching a gasp out of him. He opened his eyes and gazed up, slightly confused at the turn of events, and almost turned away when Ryoma leaned in close.

"Why are you so selfish?" Ryoma was close enough that his breaths caressed and slipped past Fuji's parted lips. "Why must you always insist on doing things which will cause you _and_ the people around you more grief than anything else at the end of the day? Why? Tell me, Syuusuke."

"...I'm not sure."

"I'm not leaving without you." Ryoma leaned in closer, and Fuji held onto his ground firmly.

"You can try."

"Not without you."

"Maa, Echizen-"

"If you don't know how to accept defeat, I'll teach you." There was a pause, and Ryoma added on as if on second thoughts. "Nicely."

Fuji lifted his gaze, still sharp, still feeling something he couldn't quite put into words, and stared straight Ryoma.

He finally smiled. "Please do."

It was strange, only to realise it now, but he guessed it was always better late than never.

Life, to them, was never anything more than just a big game of tennis. On times they lose some, and on times, they win some.

And sometimes, they learned how to stop thinking about the game-- to simply enjoy the wind in their face, the sunlight on their skin, and the company of their opponent, an eternal rival on the courts they could never step off.

Today seemed to be one of those days.

* * *

Addendum:  
Fear the fangirl. That's all I'm going say. -wriggles in glee-


End file.
